


A Land of Frost and Fire

by korben600



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Death, F/M, Intrigue, Political Alliances, Sieges, War, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korben600/pseuds/korben600
Summary: The Barbarian Archipelago is undergoing a period of unprecedented peace. The events that will be collectively known as “The Fall of the Red Death”, “The War of the Riders”, and “The Battle of the Alphas” have nullified the majority of the threats in the Archipelago. No man is willing to challenge the newly crowned Chief of Berk at the height of his power.Arendelle has undergone rapid changes in their leadership ever since the new generation of royalty had ascended to the throne. From the coronation snafu that had turned the lands cold, to the sudden discovery of new lands to Arendelle’s north, all the way to the Queen’s sudden abdication to join a strange group of natives to the north, and the ascension of her sister. But while she is new, the new Queen’s compassion and enthusiasm has made her people hopeful for their future.Unfortunately, overlooked in Arendelle’s recent history, was that unlocking these new lands and peoples to the north of Arendelle has opened the gates to far more than just the Northuldra.For though Arendelle doesn’t know it, the era they were living through would soon be known as the Age of Dragons.
Relationships: Elsa (Disney)/Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Astrid Hofferson
Comments: 29
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Be warned, this is a slow burn fic, and I can't in good conscience promise to write out this entire thing, especially since I've rather firmly established by this point that I can't finish a WIP to save my life. XD
> 
> But I genuinely like this story and I want to see what I can do with it, so hopefully I can make something good out of it. 
> 
> This fic heavily draws inspiration from the fanfic "Of State" by Red Star on ff.net, but I'd like to go on record that I had this idea WELL before I read his stuff. Additionally, this story only draws inspiration from that fic, so you won't need to read that to understand what's going on in this one. 
> 
> Credit goes to Pickledragon who beta'd this chapter, and encouraged me to write this! 
> 
> Note: Tagging is annoying so I'll add more tags as they become relevant or as I realize they're needed.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story!

Her father had once spoken of a “Hundred Year storm”. 

The story had originated with her great-grandfather, who had lived through the experience in his early years as king. He then told the story to the man who would become her grandfather, who had managed to imprint the story onto his son, her father, before her grandfather’s untimely demise.

To her great-grandfather, the hurricane had come out of nowhere, like the wrath of an angry god, to rain down destruction on Arendelle. He’d described a massive stormfront, dark clouds stretching from horizon to horizon.

When her great-grandfather had seen the stormfront, it was already too late to flee the path of the storm. All Arendelle’s king could do was get their people to high ground, the cliffs their small kingdom abutted, and pray. 

Her great-grandfather's words, through the lens of her father’s vibrant storytelling, were striking. Her father spoke of winds that threatened to uproot his entire kingdom, of pouring rain that threatened to drown their people alive.

But the scariest part of the storm, in great-grandpa’s humble opinion as reigning monarch and storyteller, wasn’t when the storm first hit. 

The part of the story he truly feared, the part he conveyed with such horrified tones that it survived long enough to reach her ears, was what he called The Eye. 

Halfway through the storm, there was a pause. Where the rain stopped, and the wind died down, and he tentatively poked his head out of their hiding place. 

When he’d walked out, there’d been blessed silence, and he’d breathed a sigh of relief that the ordeal was over. 

But then he bothered to turn his head. 

A wall of clouds surrounded his kingdom, reaching from the ground, where grey winds tore at the earth, to the sky, reaching high enough to kiss heaven itself. To that end, the only blue sky he could see was a circle of azure atmosphere directly above him, like a great eye in the heavens, looking down, milky iris permanently blind to their plight on earth.

He realized that, far from the storm receding, he was embroiled in the center of it. 

“The Eye…” Her father had whispered in tones mimicking his own father’s recollection, “...was not a break in the storm, or a reprieve...it was a  _ warning _ .” 

A sign. Of more death and destruction to come.

* * *

Elsa placed a hand on an outer wall, turning the ice from an opaque blue-white to a completely transparent window. She held up her candle to the wall, just staring at the interplay of light with the ice, before shielding the light from the window so she could see outside. 

Even in the dark of night, the light of the moon clearly illuminated the world outside Arendelle’s main castle. 

Distantly, Elsa wondered what Gramp-Gramp would’ve thought of the storm she found herself in this time. 

She snickered. 

While it was likely not the most regal thought, she was under the distinct impression that Gramp-Gramp would’ve shat himself silly, had he seen what she’d done. 

She twirled her fingers, and the window shifted, from a clear window, to a lens, letting her better see her handiwork. 

Less than three hundred feet from her castle, was a storm. No gaudy hurricane this time, though she supposed it bore a passing resemblance in shape and scope. No, this was a  _ blizzard _ . 

Not an average blizzard either. 

Not even a hundred year blizzard, that her own great-grandchildren would hear about. 

No, this...this was an  _ apocalyptic  _ blizzard. 

The coming of a new Ice Age. 

A Rapture. 

A Ragnarock. 

The kind of blizzard that would stop an army. 

She idly shivered. 

_ Hopefully _ . 

She couldn’t help but look at the village below her, the homes of her subjects and people, and mentally went over the cost. 

After her coronation, the people of Arendelle had become masters of the cold. While her advisors had tried to keep the information from her, likely to preserve her dignity, various industries had apparently sprung up in the months following her first involuntary snowstorm. Insulation, parka, and blizzard insurance sales had apparently skyrocketed, and she supposed that if any kingdom on earth was prepared for what was being lashed on it, it was Arendelle. 

But as she gazed at the blurred outlines of the town, she couldn’t help but sigh. 

This blizzard was going to decimate her people’s livelihoods far beyond any hurricane ever has. 

Only, unlike a hurricane, this was  _ her  _ fault.

* * *

Anna quickly jogged through the dark corridors of the castle, the chiseled and stone and subdued decorations long since burned into her brain as a winding and frighteningly accurate map, to the point where she didn’t even need the various torches that were lit every few feet to tell where she was going, though the various servants and townspeople she bumped into might have disagreed. 

But eventually, she made an unexpected turn, into an old bedroom, tiptoeing past civilians littered on the floor, asleep. She rushed to the balcony that would normally look out onto the sea, quietly, but quickly, pulling the doors open. Instead of a great oceanside vista facing her, there were icy walls, arcing up, engulfing the entire castle like an ill-fitting suit of armor. The Princess gently stepped off the balcony, gingerly testing the ice for support, before taking off in another direction. 

This route, constructed of ice, winding around the castle’s stone walls, and littered with soldiers in various states of dress and wakefulness, was foreign to her. In between waving and giving whispered hellos to the poor knights who bothered to stay awake, she navigated the cold labyrinth with a mixture of luck, helpful pointed fingers from the guards, and the ambient moonlight seeming to suffuse through everything, giving it an ethereal glow. 

But eventually she meandered to the correct room, nodding politely at the guard at the entrance, before scampering forward and taking in the sight. 

A familiar cathedral of ice towered over her. She’d only been to Elsa’s castle on the North Mountain once, the near death experience killing her motivation to revisit, but her sister’s architecture was never anything to scoff at, and even a brief glimpse tended to be memorable. Even with only that small glimpse to work on, Anna could tell that this was different. The ceiling was lower, with more structural support columns. The chandelier was absent, as was most color from the room, which caused her to frown slightly. 

In fact, the room more resembled a bunker than the cavernous cathedral she’d previously seen, which was likely fair, as that  _ is  _ what it was supposed to be.

The only concession to vanity in the entire room appeared to be the massive window her sister was currently wistfully staring out of. 

Anna approached her sister carefully, sidling up beside her, and similarly gazed out the window, trying to figure out what exactly had Elsa so engrossed. 

She tilted her head at the towering walls of clouds surrounding their castle, eyes tracing the distant moonlight reflecting off the vortex of snow whirling around the castle. 

“...it looks beautiful.” She whispered slightly, to a surprised glance from her sister. 

“Beautiful?” Elsa said in confusion, hand still shielding the candle so they could better see. 

“Yeah...the moonlight, and the storm. It almost seems...peaceful, out there.” 

Elsa tilted her head like her sister, trying to see it from her perspective, before settling back to a normal posture. 

“...I suppose that’s one way to see it.” She whispered. 

Anna glared at her, before lightly boffing her on the head with a mitt, and the Queen of Arendelle winced, giving her a slight pout. 

“Hey!” 

“No moping!” Anna said firmly, pointing at her. the seriousness of her statement slightly undercut by the purple wool hat and the hand-knitted mittens she insisted on wearing at all times. “You moped for 10 years, you aren’t allowed to mope anymore, you promised!”

Elsa smiled slightly, and her sister returned the favor, before they lapsed into silence, staring out the window. 

The silence was interrupted by Anna giving her big sister a side hug, causing her to flinch slightly before she leaned into it. 

“Seriously though,” the Princess started. “This isn’t your fault.” 

“I know.” 

“The people are safe. Trust me, I counted them all!” She said with false cheer. “You have  _ no  _ idea how annoying the Jorgen siblings are until you have to count them twice.”

“I know.” Elsa pulled away slightly, not looking her sister in the eye. 

Anna paused, before she gradually pulled away, her posture straightening into that resembling a soldier.

Her voice lost its characteristic cheer, and turned into the Royal Tone their father had tried so hard to drill into them. 

The tone that conveyed absolute certainty, even if everything else seemed hopeless.

Anna had mastered it in her time as Queen, and something about that squeezed Elsa’s heart in a way that made her uncomfortable. 

“We had no other options.” Her little sister said evenly, “They brought this on themselves.”

The Queen sighed. 

“I know.” 

Her sister at least didn’t have the trademark Royal Face down yet, as she looked at Elsa with a curious expression, and a raised eyebrow conveying her question. 

“I’m…I’m worried for  _ us _ ” Elsa started, her own royal facade wavering slightly. Her next words were a whisper. “...I don’t know if I’m strong enough.” 

Her sister gave her a reassuring rub of the shoulder. “I trust you, Elsa.” 

The Queen nodded, before straightening her back,and schooling her face. 

“...might want to put that out.” Anna said quietly, gesturing to the candle. “Finding us will be half the battle.” 

Elsa nodded, and quickly grabbed the wick of candle, snuffing it out with a woosh.

Simultaneously, a chilling breeze streaked through the room. The cold it brought seemed to sink so deeply, it reached into their souls, causing both sisters to shiver. 

Something caught the corner of Elsa’s eye, and she stared out the window again, seeing a ball of light hanging at the edge of the storm. 

“No…” Anna whispered, horrified. “Please, no…” 

Almost at her words, another light lit up the edge of the storm, and another, and another, until soon, multicolored lights lit up the edge of the storm like burning stars. 

“...somehow, I don’t think putting the candle out will make much of a difference.” Elsa said dumbly.

* * *

The cold had already frozen his armor to his skin, and was now worming its way into his bones to turn his organs into ice sculptures. 

But he’d stayed in the storm. 

His dragon, despite having an actual furnace in his belly, seemed to be having similar issues, as the frost continually gathered in every nook and cranny of his body, threatening to creep over his flapping wings and force them back down to earth every additional second they remained. 

But he’d stayed in the storm. 

Hiccup was tired, hungry, and cold, rarely a good combination in moderation, but in the quantities he was currently experiencing, the hardships were threatening to turn him feral.

_ But he’d stayed in the storm _ . 

They would get one shot at this. 

One shot at the fortress lingering in the eye of this strange blizzard. 

One chance to stop this. 

So he stayed in the storm. 

Waiting. 

Until finally, a spark out of the corner of his eye. On the other side of the storm, a bright yellow light shone at him, hotter than the surface of the sun, and almost as bright. The telltale fire of a Deadly Nadder.

Astrid’s signal. They had the castle surrounded.

He patted his dragon, and Toothless summoned a fireball of his own, blue plasma glowing in the night. 

In response to the two lights, the entire blizzard lit up with dragons and their riders igniting their own fireballs. For a second, it seemed like the blizzard had borne a thousand suns.

...until those suns came raining down on the Castle of Arendelle. 


	2. First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good first impressions of a culture are very important. 
> 
> Bad first impressions, even more so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter should give a better idea what this fic's style is going to be like, but I reserve the right to be inconsistent at my leisure! XD

In every society, there are multiple types of people. Many split said peoples into “Predators and Prey”, “Sheep and Wolves”, “Moochers and Makers”, but the truth is rarely so simple. 

What cannot be argued though, is that some, not all, but  _ some _ people are born with an itch. A drive that can’t truly be satisfied until they find that one  _ thing  _ that they can truly thrive in. 

Some are called to serve the community. Some are called to fight for it. 

And some...just wish to explore. 

In the woods north of Arendelle, there was a people, locked in time. 

A great sin committed by a vain king not their own had caused the spirits guarding their homes to isolate them. Where once they had lived in harmony with the elementals within the Enchanted Forest, within the span of a day, they were trapped by a swirling fogbank. 

The Northuldra, not having much other recourse, had eked out a life within the forest, one day after another. It was not a harsh life, the spirits were not so cruel as to starve them out of existence, but...it was a different one. 

Children grew up only having heard of things like “stars”, “skies”, or “seas”. 

Children still grew up, compelled to gaze at the sky, compelled to sail canoes up and down their limited rivers, compelled to explore every inch of the box they called home...but not knowing  _ why _ . 

But one day, strangers entered the Enchanted Forest. 

Descendents of that vile king who had caused their entombment, and carrying a mystical connection to their former guardians, the strangers tore down the misty veil that had trapped them for so long. 

Finally, the children of Northuldra could understand those strange compulsions they’d had all their lives. When they looked up at night, they saw a thousand stars wreathed like a great dome above the trees. When they gazed out over the Dark Sea, they saw more water than they’d ever thought possible, just waiting to be sailed. And when they ran, they could run for eternity in any direction, and the world would keep on going.

They all handled this change in different ways. 

Some did the obvious thing and began worshipping the woman who freed them as a goddess, laying offerings of food, drink, and nubile Northuldrans at her doorstep in thanks, while praying to her in gratitude for their deliverance. 

(Said goddess tragically rebuffed all the efforts out of modesty, though her humility did little to actually dissuade her worshippers, who only stepped up their efforts to shower her in praise and gifts. The flow of offerings only really slowed when the Queen of Ice and Snow froze the space around her hut to  _ just  _ cold enough that the particularly scantily clad offerings would be forced to at least wear some more sensible clothing.) 

Others took more contemplative approaches, becoming near nocturnal, spending hours at night gazing at the near-infinite stars lining the celestial firmament. 

And others...others wanted to  _ explore _ . 

It wasn’t many, not all hear the call to adventure, especially amongst a people who had been raised in such a unique type of cultural isolation. However, the Northuldra were nothing if not curious, and among curious minds, you will  _ always  _ find explorers. 

Despite the Northuldra’s newfound relationship with Arendelle, most were not comfortable begging help from the very state that had gotten them isolated in the first place, so they decided to rediscover their people’s art of sailing. 

Canoeing was an old art, and thankfully one that survived the decades in confinement, so it was relatively simple to bring a few canoes, and few would-be intrepid explorers, to the North Shore for some test runs. 

After a few mishaps, several capsizes, innumerable displays of incredulity that the ocean was  _ so damn big _ , and at least one awkward meeting with an amused goddess when they’d accidentally sailed up the fjord all the way to Arendelle, the explorers had gotten to the point where they could reasonably navigate a mile or so off the coast of the Dark Sea. 

Though they knew it would likely be a while until they managed to actually explore beyond the horizon, and that in all likelihood, their goddess riding a horse of pure water could put their best efforts to shame any day of the week, they were still excited about their prospects.

To many of them, this wasn’t just about exploring the ocean, and meeting new people. For them, it was about testing the boundaries, seeing if this new world they’d been freed to explore had any walls that would stop them, and if it did, whether they could tear down those walls just like their goddess had torn down theirs. 

Unfortunately for them, the universe (and oceanic currents) worked in mysterious ways. 

And instead of going out and meeting new peoples, those new peoples would come to  _ them _ .

* * *

When the Northuldrans reached the shoreline for a test run of new, bigger, canoes, they were greeted with an unfamiliar sight. 

The Northuldran coastline bordering the Dark Sea was...unusual. Littered with cliffs, bluffs, and crags, there were precious few true beaches for the Northuldrans to sail from. And what few beaches there were, had pitch black sand, brought on by the volcanic activity that had been a major part of their territory’s distant past. 

So, in their travels up and down the coast, those explorers had eventually narrowed down the best beach for seafaring to a single coastline close to the mouth of the Arendellan fjord. 

But evidently, they were not the only ones who thought that. 

For as they approached, they found a ship waiting for them.

With a low wooden hull, bristling with shields, a single square sail, and a prow carved into the shape of a beast, the Northuldrans had never seen anything like it, even during their inadvertent adventure to Arendelle’s port. Unlike those wooden ships, which were great trading vessels (or so they’d been informed when they’d accidentally bumped into one) this one almost seemed to radiate anger, and malice. 

The people, meanwhile, were similarly alien. They bore metal helmets, with great horns protruding from them, and were bedecked in leathers and furs like they’d just travelled from the edge of a glacier. Their bodies were just as foreign, hulking masses of muscles like nobody in their tribe had ever seen before. Each man landing ashore was easily as large as one and a half of their greatest warriors. 

But the things that most concerned the Northuldrans was that which was simultaneously most familiar. Namely, the metal weapons and shields the foreigners carried slung to their backs and hips. 

Evidently, the one constant, even among strangers thousands of miles apart, was that a sharpened piece of metal on a stick was still the best instrument for killing people. 

And if there was one thing the children of Northuldra knew, it was to never trust a white stranger bearing arms. 

A quick, and quiet discussion began amongst the half-dozen or so explorers. Some wished to go out and meet the foreigners. Others wanted to call the village for help. 

Eventually, the matter was settled when a particularly beady-eyed stranger saw them, and called out a warning. 

As one, the men drew their metal weapons and charged forward, yelling in their strange and indecipherable tongue.

* * *

These strange men who washed ashore on the Northern Coast of Northuldra were not explorers. 

They had no skills in diplomacy, linguistics, or even any particular skill in sailing. 

In fact, they were not even technically supposed to  _ be  _ there, they’d gotten lost fleeing a force far more terrifying to them than some poorly armed natives. 

The Northuldra knew none of this when they first met these strangers, nor did they ever  _ truly  _ find this information out afterwards.

What they did learn was something far more important. 

These people were warriors. More specifically, brigands.

And when scared brigands with no skills in diplomacy, linguistics, or sailing, encounter a foreign group...they do what all brigands do. 

With metal weapons, and the martial prowess of their people, those foreigners made quick work of the Northuldran exploring party, ensuring the secrecy of their landing from all outside parties.

...or so they thought.

Unfortunately for them, while these brigands held the advantage in strength, endurance, and martial skill, the explorers had grown up in this forest for decades. And with the hyperactivity of youth, every tree, every path, and every hiding spot that littered the forest had been ingrained into their memory  _ years  _ ago. 

They still slaughtered most of the party. The home field advantage is a fickle thing, and the invaders got the drop on the ill-fated expedition. 

...but they didn’t get all of them.

* * *

Two Northuldran men, out of a party of six, materialized out of the forest, and nearly collapsed in the center of their village. 

They were covered in blood, and on the verge of tears when their village swarmed around them. 

The explorers recounted a story of savage invaders coming to shore, and attacking them the second they were spotted. 

One of the men, one Ryder Nattura, begs them to call their goddess, she had promised them protection, and this was exactly the kind of thing they needed to be protected  _ from _ . 

The village informed him that, unfortunately, the goddess was away, back in Arendelle. 

A messenger was dispatched on a reindeer to retrieve her, but nobody bothered to wait for her arrival. 

They were Northuldran. 

They were taught to never trust a white stranger bearing arms. 

They were  _ also  _ taught what to do when said white strangers inevitably validated that advice.

* * *

The home field advantage is a fickle thing. 

Had the invaders stayed on their black coast, huddled on their wooden ship, with open lines of sight for hundreds of feet, they likely would have been just fine, fending off any attack that was thrown at them by the ill-equipped Northuldra. 

But humans are a curious lot, even the worst among them, and a large portion of the invading party found itself wandering into the forest that these strange, smaller people had wandered out of. 

They found a curious forest, draped in the dizzying array of colors that signified fall, with dense foliage around them. 

The Enchanted Forest had become more accommodating since it’s time spent as a prison for the Northuldra. No longer would angry spirits raze the very ground you walked, seemingly just to induce heart attacks, nor did the mist make every step a blind one. 

But it still held secrets. And even the simplest of forests can confuse the unfamiliar. 

Soon, the invaders found themselves disorganized, and split up. 

And that was when the bushes began to move around them.

During their imprisonment, the Northuldra had been forced to share their forest with another group of people. Arendellan soldiers with superior weapons, and a grudge. Peace had been achieved fairly early on, for the sake of resource sharing, if nothing else, but flare-ups throughout three decades of confinement had left the Northuldra with their own grudges, and a long experience in forest warfare. 

Meanwhile, these new invaders were arrogant, and  _ stupid _ , in a way that the Arendellan soldiers had never been. 

Nobody noticed when the first stranger fell. His body was quickly hidden under a bush, battered and broken from blunt force trauma, while his metal weapons were quickly shunted to the most able members of the war party. 

Nobody noticed when the second stranger fell. A particularly beefy man, he met his end being pushed into a pit of spikes normally reserved for large game. Quick movements with a particularly long and sturdy stick pulled his weapons from his fingers before they were even cold.

By the time the third stranger fell, the first stranger’s weapons had found their way to Ryder, who, despite a look in his eyes that made everyone worry for his well being, was rather keen on avenging his friends. He did, blood soaking his stolen blade as another invader fell silently to the floor. 

On this continued, as one by one, the invaders fell, most hitting the floor of the forest without even realizing they’d been attacked, until a man from the boat, a commander, ran to the edge of the forest, calling for them to return. 

By this point, the Northuldra had ambushed enough soldiers, and stolen enough weapons, to even the odds a bit, something they made the commander  _ painfully  _ aware of as they charged him and his people. 

Caught surprised, more invaders fell, their red blood staining the black beach they’d arrived on. 

While the shield wall the invaders hastily assembled was useful, cutting down many, and holding back the native people for a while, the overwhelming numbers of Northuldra, the stolen weapons tested against their former owners, and the sheer tenacity of a people refusing submission finally overcame the invaders. 

The shield wall broke, and men fell back to the ship in a confused mess, hands scrabbling on the shields lining the edges of the boat before being hastily dragged onto the ship, or dragged into the surf by a Northuldran warrior. 

The intense, brutal melee left the Northuldrans victorious, though at the expense of more lives as the invaders left behind fought to the bitter end, demonstrating their people’s martial prowess. 

Bodies dotted the black surf, coloring it red with blood.

That was roughly the point that the message via reindeer, warning of an invasion, finally reached Arendelle.

* * *

Elsa, for her part, had already been about to leave the castle when the reindeer-riding messenger arrived at the edges of Arendelle. His bedraggled and harried state, coupled with his loudly announced need to see the queen, had garnered him many confused and curious looks on the way in.

When he finally managed to get to the front gates of the castle, he’d noticed the former queen leaving via a side-entrance, and had quickly turned to intercept her before she got to the water. 

From a view in the castle windows, the current Queen of Arendelle, and reigning champion of Royal Charades night, looked down at her sister. 

She was too far to hear, and almost too far to see her expression, but Anna and Elsa were sisters. Despite prior years of emotional distance, reconciling had caused the Queen to develop a sixth sense for when Elsa was troubled. 

That sixth sense was ringing like a bell as the Northuldran rider came up to her sister, whispering quickly, and handing her a paper. 

She couldn’t see Elsa’s expression, but her body language as she read slowly morphed into something broken, before turning cold, and distant. 

Her sister quickly called to the sea, and a horse made out of water sprung out, patiently waiting as Elsa and the Northuldran hopped on quickly, before taking off in the direction of the fjord that bordered the kingdom. 

The horse had an unimaginable speed on the water, and she quickly lost sight of them. But just as she was about to turn away, shutting the blinds, and the topic, until next charades night, she paused. 

A single snowflake was halted on the royal window. 

She turned up, looking to the sky, and found a string of clouds following her sister’s route as she left. 

Anna shivered. 

“Elsa...what was that?” she whispered solemnly, before shutting the blinds.

* * *

“There!” the Northuldran man shouted, “Take a-” 

“I know where it is!” Elsa replied, air dragging her hair back as she urged the water spirit on faster. 

The cliffs and bluffs blurred past them, faster and faster, until the ethereal horse began to slow down near a familiar patch of land. In the distance, she could see oblong multicolored shapes, barely standing out against the clear water and the black beach. But even from there, both riders could tell what they were. 

Bodies.

Elsa began unmounting, despite the horse still travelling at it’s breakneck pace.

“Hey, what are-” Her companion didn’t even get a full sentence out before she jumped off the horse. 

Ice in the shape of snowflakes formed under her feet, turning her actions from a guaranteed wipeout, into a controlled ice slide, allowing her to get closer and closer, while slowing, until she could safely cut the ice and just rush through the surf.

Her blue-grey dress was quickly stained with saltwater, splashing up her side, and sticking the magical fabric to her side. 

She didn’t care, pushing forward to the beach, only slowing at the sight in front of her. 

Northuldrans were everywhere. Some were prone, sitting on the ground moaning, bearing minimal injuries. Others were standing, dragging away those prone men that were unmoving. 

Said unmoving bodies were of various sizes, and in various states of dress unknown to her. But all had grievous wounds that continued to drain blood into the water. 

Her eyes followed the various red trails coming off of the bodies, and suddenly looked down at her own dress again. 

The muted colors were slowly darkening into something worse. 

She choked down bile rising in her throat, and strode forward onto the beach.

She couldn’t help looking at the still forms littering the shore, her eyes not stopping until she found a Northuldran, close by...and moving. 

He was half in the water, and had another Northuldran with him, desperately trying to comfort him, but judging from the amount of red coloring the water, he didn’t have much time. 

The former queen hurried to him, walking over, trying to judge what to do. 

The medic, formerly whispering words to him, turned upwards to see Elsa. Her eyes widened slightly, and she quickly gestured her over. 

“It’s gonna be alright, Elio, look! The goddess is here, she’ll take care of you.” 

Elsa knelt in the water next to him, unheeding of how her dress would be affected by the growing pool of red in the water. 

“Hello there, Elio.” She said in as comforting a tone as she could, slowly wrapping her fingers around his own. Desperately, she wracked her mind for information, thankfully finding some before she finished the sentence. “You’re a reindeer wrangler, right?” 

His eyes welled up with water, nodding quietly as he bit his lip in pain. 

“I’m told you were very brave.” She said quietly. “You protected your people.” 

The man’s lip quivered slightly, grunting and closing his eyes, as he nodded again, jaw clenched. His fingers curled around Elsa’s with a tight grip that almost hurt, but she kept that pain off her face. 

The healer across from her looked down, her frown getting more somber. To Elsa’s questioning glance, she shook her head, and gestured with her fingers, index and pointer pulling down her own eyelids. 

Elsa nodded.

“Elio?” She said quietly. “It’s...it’s okay to let go.” she said, as the healer nodded in agreement. “You fought well. You can rest. I-” She paused, her breath catching in her throat. “-I’m here. I’ll keep them safe.” 

Contrary to her request, the man forced his eyes open to look at her. Speaking seemed to be taking everything out of him, but he persevered, even in his last breaths, to get out his final words.

“Thank. You.” 

With that, he slumped back, his eyes rolling up as his body went limp.

A quick test of his pulse confirmed what she already knew, and she slowly pulled up her fingers to close his eyes as she gently laid him back to the beach.

She turned to the healer, who was gazing at her with a sad look. 

Something on her face must have shown. Or perhaps it was her shaking fingers that had given her away. But the healer reached out a hand to Elsa’s shoulder, rubbing it gently. 

“Thank you.” She said quietly. “He is at peace.” 

Elsa nodded numbly. 

“Now...I believe you have more work to do.” the healer continued, pulling back. “I will put him to rest,” she finished with a sigh. 

The former queen nodded, getting up, a red tinge coating her dress as she walked inland. 

She got to just behind a tree before puking. 

When the eternity of waiting for her stomach to evacuate everything she’d eaten since she was six was finally over, a silent hand reached out in front of her with a kerchief. 

“Thank you, Yelena.” She said hoarsely, taking the piece of cloth gratefully as she coughed into it. “I...I don’t suppose you’re the only one who saw this?” 

The elder Northuldran leader gave her a proud smile full of sorrow. “My dear, I think  _ everyone  _ saw what you did.” 

Elsa raised an eyebrow as she wiped her mouth, but nothing else was forthcoming. 

“Come.” Yelena said seriously. “We need to talk.”

* * *

They quickly fell into an easy sync, walking down the beach. 

There was silence between them as they passed covered bodies littering the beach. 

“What happened?” Elsa started, uncertainly. 

“Invaders landed.” Yelena said with a shrug. “Big people, with metal weapons. They attacked almost immediately. When they entered the forest, we... _ dealt _ with them.” 

Elsa’s eyes scrambled up and down the beach, littered with bodies, Northuldra and foreign. “Forest?” 

“They fled here, we counter-attacked them on the beach.” Yelena continued evenly. 

They stopped at a covered body, just staring at it. 

“You should have waited for me.” The former queen said quietly, both of their gazes filtering to the other covered lumps. 

“You will not always be here, your highness.” Yelena said quickly, face coloring with concern at the guilt lining her friend’s face. “Besides, this is just the beach battle. We did much better in the forest. Damn fools walked right into our traps.” 

Elsa sighed, her fingers finding their way to run along her ponytail, a nervous tick that she never quite grew out of despite years of etiquette training. 

“Hey.” The elder said quietly, grasping her shoulder gently. “This isn’t your fault. Besides, we  _ won _ .” 

The former queen pointedly decided to not comment on the fact that, given what she could see, despite “winning”, there were  _ many  _ Northuldran bodies littered on the beach. 

She shook herself out of her reverie. If Yelena said it was a win, it was a win...even if it didn’t look like it

“Who were they?” Elsa continued, hoping to push past the topic. 

“Don’t know.” Yelena said, leading them to a blanket with a particularly large lump under it. “We were hoping you would be able to tell  _ us _ .” 

When she pulled up the blanket, Elsa found a massive man, with strange cloth clothes, a belt buckle with strange inscriptions, and a smell strong enough to knock out a small reindeer. 

Pinching her nose, she gestured for the tarp to be put back, and she shook her head. 

“Well?” 

“No idea.” Elsa said quietly. “I’ve never seen people like that before.” 

“Darn.”

“Have you ever had people come from the Dark Sea like this?” She said, looking out into the calm sea. 

“Elsa...we never had  _ access  _ to this sea before. The mist blocked it.” Yelena said seriously. 

She blinked quickly, before turning to the elder. 

“Wait...what?” She said quietly. 

“The spirits blocked everything. We had no access to the Dark Sea.” 

Elsa quickly looked back out at the Dark Sea with a concerned look on her face. 

Yelena noticed the change in expression on her face, and her eyes narrowed. 

“...what are you thinking?” 

The 5th spirit of the Northuldra, Goddess of Ice and Snow...shivered. 

“All those years, you thought the spirits were acting as a  _ wall _ , trapping everyone inside...” Elsa said quietly to Yelena, gazing into the distance, where a storm raged over the sea. “...what if the wall wasn’t just keeping the Northuldra  _ in... _ ”

As she watched, she almost thought she could see a blip on the horizon, outlined against the storm. 

“...but it was keeping something else  _ out _ .”

* * *

The captain of the vessel accosting the northern coast of Northuldra wasn’t an explorer. If he really had to be called something, it was probably closer to “Opportunist”, or “Professional Asshole”. 

This, paired with an unusual combination of violent tendencies, and a knack for intimidation, had elevated him in the ranks of his organization to that of “Captain”. 

As captain, his job was to scout out territories, and see whether they were suitable for his organization to expand to, a very important job, given the kind of troubles his organization was currently facing back home. 

And while his current expedition, on the whole, could be construed as a failure, he didn’t see it that way. 

Sure, a good number of his men had died in the forest...probably. 

And sure, a bunch of his men had died on the beach, and they’d run away- _ retreated _ . 

“Retreated” was a better word less likely to lose him his head. 

But he was a practical man. And more importantly, he was a  _ tactical  _ man. 

He’d studied the natives on the beach in great detail in the short skirmish they’d had. 

Despite having the advantage in numbers, surprise, and terrain, his men had  _ still  _ managed to hold their own, and had only  _ barely  _ been broken. 

In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, the metal weapons the natives used were just stolen from the men that had run into the forest. 

Meanwhile, the rest were fighting with sticks, and stones. 

He had no doubt that if they returned in force, they could easily destroy them, maybe even capture some for the slave markets. 

As his ship travelled farther out to sea, he got a better look at the shoreline they were moving off of. Stretching from one horizon to another, it appeared to be connected to a massive landmass that dwarfed any island in the archipelago. 

That same shoreline was also dotted with great trees just waiting to be exploited to make new warships.

But, perhaps most important in his analysis, was what  _ wasn’t  _ there. 

The captain smiled as he laid back in the ship. Sure, he’d lost men, and had no booty to show for it, but he had something even more important he was returning with. 

Information. 

Of a land with poorly armed natives, massive untouched forests, and most importantly,  _ no dragons _ . 

And no meddling  _ dragon riders _ .

_ Oh yes… _ He thought to himself.  _ Drago’s gonna  _ **_love_ ** _ this.  _


	3. Tally Marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Elsa contends with an external threat from strange peoples, another monarch is dealing with a very different set of problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit shorter, the Berk bits are gonna be a bit more exposition-y for a while, since Hiccup is dealing with a fundamentally different problem to Elsa.
> 
> Oh, and another thanks to Pickledragon who helpfully beta'd this chapter and the last one!

Hiccup walked to the massive oaken doors at the front of the hallway, checking, then double checking his clothing: a mass of furs and leather designed to keep out even the most brutal colds. 

His hands found their way to the large handles, and he paused, taking a deep breath. 

“Hurry up already!” Came an obnoxious voice behind him. “See! He won’t do it, might as well let me do it!” 

“NO WAY, you got to do it last week!” came another annoying voice behind him, quickly followed by yet another. “Yeah! It’s our turn next!” 

“You bozos went yesterday!” Snotlout retorted to the twins. 

“Yeah, and since there are two of us, that’s only one of our turns!” 

“Oh you cheeky little-” Suddenly, the sound of various punching and things breaking rang out. 

Hiccup rolled his eyes, and was debating intervening, when a loud  _ thunk  _ cut off everything else.

He turned around, finding literally his entire tribe watching what had clearly been gearing up to be a no-holds barred bar fight. Snotlout was pinning Ruffnut by the scruff of her shirt onto the table, while Tuffnut was on his back, trying to strangle him. 

Naturally,  _ nobody  _ in the tribe had even bothered to try and stop the violence. In fact, judging from the various faces of disappointment forming the semicircle around them, the people of Berk had been actively betting on the outcome. 

Fortunately...or unfortunately, depending on your perspective, a truly horrifyingly sharp axe was buried less than an inch from the idiots’ ears, sunk a solid inch into the wood of the table. 

Luckily, its zippleback gas function, which would have turned the weapon’s blades aflame and surely would have singed his brawling friends, hadn’t been activated. Instead, the horrifying sharpness of the blade alone had served well enough to grab everyone’s attention. 

Hiccup didn’t even need to wonder where the axe came from, mostly because  _ he’d  _ been the one to forge the weapon in the first place. 

It’d been a betrothal gift, after all.

So Hiccup, and the rest of the vikings present, turned their eyes to Hiccup’s “throne”, where his fiancée was standing, eyes sparkling with barely repressed murder.

“Snotlout. Ruff. Tuff?” She said calmly, her even tone belying her annoyance. 

“Yes?” They said simultaneously, refusing to move, for fear of more bladed weaponry being hurled at them. 

“Let. Hiccup. Do. His. Job.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” They repeated in stereo, quickly getting off the table and dusting each other off with fear in their eyes, before standing at attention, looking at her. 

Astrid finally realized that  _ everyone  _ was looking at her, and instead of the traditional response of “stage fright”, she just attempted to glare her entire tribe into submission. 

“Well? What are you all looking at  _ me  _ for?” She growled, pointing at her fiancé. “It’s  _ his  _ turn today.” 

As one, the tribe turned to look at Hiccup, who did, in fact, get stage fright, and he tried to give her a dirty look, before turning back to the great doors.

With a sigh, he pulled up his mask, and fur-lined hood, before carefully opening the door.

Opening the door even by a crack proved problematic, as the cold seized on the break in the defenses, and proceeded to flood into the great hall. The winds flowed around the entire room, snuffing out candles left and right, with the vikings crying in surprise, before quickly trying to cover up what light sources they could. 

Meanwhile, Hiccup forced himself forward, scooping copious amounts of snow out of the doorway with his mittens. Eventually, he managed to carve a small cave for himself, and he began to crawl upwards, and outwards.

* * *

Finally, after what felt like half an hour of tunneling, the Chieftain of the Berk managed to break out of the snowbank, and he crawled into the world. 

It was, as usual, cold. Brutally,  _ painfully _ , cold. 

He breathed in, and shook slightly. The freezing air had worked its way into his nose, tickling the back of his nostrils with frost. 

Hiccup pulled up his mask to protect himself, and he pushed a little farther forward to get a better view. 

He should’ve been looking out over his village. Were this a summer month, he could look out over dozens of houses, tens of dragons, and if it was clear enough, he could even see ships docking in the harbor. 

But instead of that, all he saw was snow. Snow, snow, and more snow. Those buildings were just snow piles that vaguely resembled buildings in shape and size. The dragons were smart, and had left ages ago to warmer climates. And if there were ships, he certainly couldn’t see them through the blizzard. 

The massive doors he had initially walked through were twenty feet high, and while that normally gave an imposing air that frightened outsiders, now their size only served as a massive wall for snow to pile up on. He could barely see the brown top of the door from his vantage point, the white powder was stacked so high. 

He looked up to the sky, desperately hoping against hope that his intuition, and his eyes, were deceiving him, and that the storm was clearing.

But the sky remained stubbornly grey, with only the vaguest patch of lighter clouds to remind him that it was daylight. 

Hiccup sighed, and debated staying for a few minutes longer, just to enjoy the solitude. Another harsh breeze washing over his exposed skin killed those thoughts dead, and froze their corpses for good measure. 

He shivered, and turned back to his little hole. To his concern, he found that the blizzard had already begun refilling it in the scant minutes he’d been looking around. 

The Dragon Master, Chieftain of Berk, Fearsome Leader of Vikings, rolled his eyes, and dropped to his hands and knees, crawling back into his snowhole.

* * *

When Hiccup finally arrived back at the doors, his fellow Vikings had helpfully used cloth to keep the wind from flowing through the openings he’d made. But despite the ingenuity, every viking in the room breathed a sigh of relief when he safely made it inside, and they could shut the door. 

He shuffled in, shaking the white powder off of him, when the massive  _ thoom  _ of the doors closing made him realize how quiet it was.

Hiccup looked up to find the entire village looking at him expectantly, his partner at the front of the pack. The chief tensed quietly in anticipation for the question.

“...well?” Astrid said hopefully.

Hiccup sighed, and shook his head. 

There was silence again, before someone yelled loudly from the back. “For  _ Thor’s  _ sake!” 

What sounded, and looked, like a chair collided with a wall as the crowd morosely dispersed.

Everyone left, except Astrid, who just walked up to him, and followed him as he walked to one of the walls of the hall. Propped against it was a massive wooden board, with knife marks covering almost every inch of it.

Quietly, Hiccup pulled a small blade from his belt, and added a single line on the wall, the next in a truly massive number of tally marks. He sighed again.

“...something’s bothering you?” She asked quietly. 

The chief sighed. “It’s nothing, I just...I need to sleep.” 

She grabbed his shoulder, turning him to her with just the slightest hint of aggressive concern that typified their relationship. 

“Hey. You know I’m here for you, right?” 

He smiled slightly, and gently ran his hand over her own. 

“I know.” He whispered before he walked away.

* * *

He walked into his room, nodding at the large black dragon laying on a rock slab, and dropping his various cold-weather clothes on the floor, before flopping onto his bed. 

“...aren’t you two going to ask how it went?” Hiccup said, face smothered. 

“Please, dear, it’s yet another day of winter.” His mother said from her spot laying curled under the Night Fury’s wing, and the dragon snorted his agreement. 

Hiccup perked up just enough to glare at her. “A little hope would be nice.” 

“Hope is for fools who don’t ride dragons.” Valka said, still enclosed in the Night Fury.

Her son rolled his eyes before realizing she couldn’t see him, and flopping back on his bed.

“Why are you sleeping on  _ my  _ dragon again, if you’re going to be so pessimistic?” 

“Cause yer dragon is  _ comfy _ .” she said vehemently, to another snort from the beast. “Once you go dragon, you don’t go back. And yours is the only one with enough sense to stay home for the winter.” 

Hiccup frowned again. “I bet Astrid would be a more optimistic roommate.” 

Somewhere by his dragon, his mother snorted. “That was the  _ other  _ reason I’m stealing your room.” 

He turned his head in confusion at where he guessed his mother was. “Wait, you don’t like Astrid?” 

The reaction to that was somewhere between a laugh and a howl. “Oh, honey, I  _ love  _ Astrid. Yer dragon does too. She’s the best thing to ever happen to you.” Once again, Toothless backed her, nodding before pausing, snorting in annoyance, and looking offendedly at the woman who was presumably under his wing. 

“Other than  _ you _ , yah sensitive lizard.” she said, a hand reaching out from under the wing to pat his side, earning a snort of indignation before he settled his head back down. 

“...if you like her so much, why don’t you let her sleep in our room with us?” Hiccup says in sheer confusion. 

“Because if I let her sleep in here with you, she would  _ never  _ forgive me.” 

At this point, the young chieftain had lost all sense of where the conversation had gone. 

“Mom, I have  _ no  _ idea what you’re talking about.” 

Valka gently pulled Toothless’s wing to the side, showing a disapproving eye that glared at him.

“Seriously? You can’t be that dense, even your father wasn’t that stupid.” 

“...” Hiccup just gave her an unamused look, and she visibly sighed. 

“Sweetie, if I’d let Astrid even sleep on the  _ carpet  _ this room, she would’ve been pregnant by now.”

Hiccup sputtered and flailed slightly. 

“Mom! What does that-WHAT. NO. We would not-YOU’RE RIGHT HERE!” he said, looking vaguely sick. “We’re not-not with  _ you  _ here!” 

She rolled her eyes. “Uh huh, sure, sweetie. That’s what your father said, and yet here  _ you  _ are.” 

“ _ MOM _ .” He almost screeched as his mother curled back under his own dragon’s wing. “ _ Too much information! _ ” 

Toothless, for his part, probably had no idea what the humans were saying, but he was doing a pretty good imitation of a snicker as he curled around Hiccup’s mom. 

“Uggghhh…” Hiccup almost pouted, flipping back to his pillow. “Didn’t need to know that...besides, Astrid and I would’ve been careful.” he muttered to himself. 

“Sure, for the first month, maybe.” Valka helpfully called from the dragon. “ Exactly what day of the storm are we on?”

“...I’m not keeping count,” he said carefully. “I’ll count after this blizzard stops.”

“See, you’re a pessimist too,” she pointed out. 

He sighed, and rolled his eyes. Even after leaving when he was a baby, and abstaining from all human contact since then, Hiccup was still pretty sure that he’d yet to have won an argument against his mother. 

* * *

Of course, he wasn't telling the  _ complete  _ truth. He  _ had  _ been keeping count. And he’d been cross referencing the severity of the storm with what scattered records they’d had. 

Say what you will about Vikings, they may have been a little trigger happy, but his people at least kept  _ some  _ records of meteorological events. 

The Dragon Storm of Berk’s founding. 

Thor’s Wrath, from the time of of his great-grandfather.

The Hundred Year Blizzard.

That one time someone had accidentally set off an avalanche with a fart.

It certainly wasn’t  _ easy  _ to find this information, and often required extensive haggling with Gothi, but Berk’s oral history was extensive, and useful.

Something in the back of his mind told him that if he wanted, he could probably find the storm  _ he  _ was conceived in, and he promptly tried to forget that fact. 

In the early days of this storm, he’d combed through most of his people’s collective memories, trying to find context for their current predicament. 

...but he’d stopped. 

More specifically, he’d stopped when he’d run out of blizzards he could compare this one to. 

The Hundred Year storm? A blizzard so dangerous the sages had predicted they wouldn’t have another this century?

_ That  _ storm would have ended two weeks ago.

Something dark and primal in Hiccup recoiled at the implications, and he shivered.


	4. Escalation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another strange ship appears on Northuldran shores. The Northuldrans do not intend to repeat history, and they don't...kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, I did rate this M for a reason. I dislike focusing on gore specifically, since it's just not my thing, so I try to moderate the brutality of fight scenes, unless I'm making a point.
> 
> ...that being said, this fic involves people in a 11th century level of technology killing each other brutally with dragons, magic, and swords. My personal preference for gore can only go so far against my need for awesome battle scenes. So...be warned.
> 
> Also! Credit to Pickledragon for betaing this thing! She's great, go check her out!

It started with a speck on the horizon. 

A single black dot, standing out against a cerulean sky, and a sea colored dark azure. 

Soon, it evolved into a brown dot, then a brown dot with sails. 

But before that change had occurred to the naked eye, telescopes had already been focused on the encroaching boat, and messages had been sent with all haste.

By the time the boat had finally gotten close enough to be identified, the Northuldra were already waiting.

* * *

“They’re heading here.” Ryder said quietly, gazing at the boat through the lens as it slowly grew larger. “Definitely this beach.” 

Yelena, the village elder, quietly held out her hand, and he passed it to her. 

Her eye raked the ship from stem to stern, taking in the shields, weapons, and men who wielded them. 

She held it back to him. “Is this the same ship?” 

“Yes.” He said, not taking the instrument. 

She quietly tucked it into a bag, and turned to the beach. 

Northuldrans littered the forest, stolen weapons from the last raid barely shining in the bright light of midday as they waited. Most prominent was a shock of snow white hair standing out amongst the dark hues of the forest, as a former queen wandered up and down the battle line. 

“Yelena.” Ryder said, getting her attention. “You  _ don’t  _ have to do this.” 

The elder sighed. “These are new peoples. We can’t just attack them on sight.” 

Her friend looked conflicted, as he looked at her in concern. 

Her gaze towards the ship was unfocused, and her voice was a monotone. “It’s the way of the Northuldra to never throw the first punch.” 

He looked slightly pained as he responded. “Yes, but...if something goes wrong,  _ you’ll  _ be the first punched.” 

His elder just turned to gaze at him. “That is the nature of being a leader.” 

“...and suppose it’s not just a punch?” He said quietly. “We’ve  _ seen  _ what they do.” 

She smiled, and gently rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. 

“...then Elsa will be a  _ fine  _ leader in my place.” Yelena said quietly, looking to the woman as she walked up and down the tree line, reassuring their people. 

“Now come.” she said quietly. “It’s almost time.”

* * *

Yelena had not been there during the first raid. 

She was an elder, which came with certain responsibilities, namely, not dying when at all possible. Additionally, being an elder came with creaky knees and a stiff back, which made running through the forests ambushing invaders something of a young people’s game. 

But she had seen the aftermath. 

She had waded in the surf. She had seen the bodies. She had comforted the families. 

She sighed. 

If she could end this without bloodshed, she would. 

But as the great wooden ship rolled up to that black beach, Yelena couldn’t shake the feeling that was just wishful thinking.

* * *

Like all good leaders, when faced with a stressful situation, she fell back on her training. 

She turned to the man next to her, the other explorer beside Ryder who survived the initial assault. His name was Adair: as a child he’d been hyperactive, constantly getting lost in the forest until he’d mapped the entire forest in his head. He’d never really lost that hyperactive quality in him as the years had progressed; he’d only devoted that attention to more productive activities. 

When the mists had been blown away, Adair had been one of the first to suggest exploring, and was one of the most excitable about finding new peoples. He’d constantly talked about the time he and his compatriots had accidentally ended up in Arendelle on an expedition, and would wax poetic about the untapped wilderness they could explore without the mist’s interference. 

Now he was quiet. 

It had been weeks since the raid, and it was like a part of him had died on that beach with his fellow Northuldra. 

“Adair…” she said softly to him, pointing to the ship approaching. “Is that the same type of ship?” 

He looked up, and his fingers clenched as he took a quick breath, before nodding. 

“Thank you, Adair.” She said, turning to the beach, about to walk forward. 

“No.” He said quietly, grabbing her arm. 

“...Adair.” She said softly, the worry lines on her face accenting her expression. “We have to at  _ least  _ extend our hand.” 

He shook his head again. “No. They killed us...because we were  _ there _ .” He gestured to the other Northuldra crouching around them, all carrying stolen or improvised weapons. “We  _ all  _ know this is a bad idea.” he pleaded. 

Yelena’s eyes went to everyone in her tribe. Not a single person looked happy about what she was doing.

And deep in her heart, she couldn’t help but agree with them. She was about to turn around and let her people cut loose on the unsuspecting visitors...when she caught Elsa’s eye. 

For a former queen, she had an awful poker face. She radiated unease, and indecision. 

When she realized Yelena was looking at her, the girl turned her eyes on her, quietly begging the elder to tell her what to do. 

Just like that, Yelena’s resolve returned, and she stood straighter, before looking at Adair with a sad expression. 

“Adair. We  _ have  _ to try.” she said quietly. “Or we’re no better than them.” 

With that, she walked onto the black beach to greet their visitors.

* * *

The prow of the boat dug into the black beach, and great hulking men bedecked in leathers, furs, and weapons hopped out. 

They were greeted by a single elderly woman waiting for them on the beach.

* * *

The foreigners were  _ massive _ . 

She had seen the bodies. She had seen what they had done to her people. 

But none of that truly prepared her to face these  _ mammoth  _ people, great barbarians who looked like they could snap her in two like a twig. 

One of the particularly beefy foreigners hopped off the low-bottomed boat, and walked right up to her, almost to the point where she could hear him breathe in her ear. 

The shadows of their horned weapons against the midday-sky were fearsome, adding even more to their terrifying appearance, by giving the impression of being a great human shaped beast towering over her.

...but she was the village elder, and she had a job to do. 

She bowed politely, and spoke in as even a tone as she could muster. 

“We are called Northuldra.” She said to the man, as he tilted his head at her. “We are the People of the Sun.” 

The man held out an axe to his side, stopping everyone behind him in their tracks, and he quickly muttered something to his compatriots. A small conversation broke out as the heavily armed men quietly talked amongst themselves.

Realizing she might have confused them, Yelena pointed to herself, and spoke slowly. 

“I. Am. Northuldra.”

Despite being from entirely different cultures, she could still tell that the strange man was confused, so she sighed, and pointed to herself again. 

“ _ Northuldra _ .” She said clearly, and forcefully. 

A quick comment came from behind the beast of a man, and the foreigners burst into a vicious mockery of laughter. 

Something about the way they laughed set Yelena on edge, and she slowly began backing up from the man. 

He noticed. 

Slowly, with a sick and twisted smile, the man began walking towards her, hands still carrying a shield and an axe. He slowly brought up his axe-wielding hand to his chest, tapping it in a mockery of what she’d just done. 

His voice was higher than what he’d just been using with his allies, almost certainly a sign of mockery in his tone, and he said one word very clearly to her. 

Then he raised his axe, and brought it down towards Yelena’s head.

* * *

Yelena had no idea what happened. One second, this man had been saying something, the next, he was raising his weapon, and the one after, she was on the ground with a weight on her chest. 

She tried to move, and found that the weight on her chest was roughly person-shaped. More relevantly, a warm feeling was slowly creeping into her clothes, almost like warm water was soaking her. 

The village elder tried to get up slightly, and found she could only move her head slightly as she felt more and more tired. 

“Don’t...move…” came a voice on her chest. She looked down to see a Northuldran face, pained, but familiar, attached to a body that had clearly knocked her down, and away from the invader. 

“Adair…” she said softly. “You didn’t need to do that.” Distantly, she noted something sticking out of his back, moving as he coughed. 

“Eh...spur...of the moment...thing…” He said, quipping through the pain. 

It was the first time he truly sounded like himself since the first attack, and her eyes watered as she realized that it would likely be the last, too. 

“And who’s going to save us now?” She asked quietly, amazed the barbarian hadn’t returned for his weapon, and to finish the job.

“That...was...always... _ her _ job.” He smiled. 

The temperature in the beach, formerly so sunny, if not warm, dropped to freezing, and distantly, Yelena could hear rumbling like an iceberg sliding into the sea.

“Ah. Yes. As it has always been.” She mumbled incoherently. “Men start the fight, and the spirits finish it…”

* * *

Elsa had not left the Northuldra since the first raid. 

Nokk, the water spirit who had graciously deigned to serve as her steed, was impossibly fast. She’d often tried following the rock formations that flashed past them while she rode them, but somehow the landscape rushing past her failed to capture how quickly they got from one place to another.

But even with his great speed, Elsa couldn’t be in two places at once. 

And that was what had happened during the first raid. With the Wind and Water spirits staying close to her, the only way to convey messages was via reindeer messenger.

By the time Elsa had gotten word of the assault, it was already over. 

All she found was the aftermath. 

And unlike the other Northuldra involved, who had received grievous wounds, or shallow graves, all she had received was guilt. 

The Northuldra didn’t blame her, of course.  _ They  _ had decided to attack without her. Strike while the iron was hot, and all that. 

Much as some fancied her as their live-in goddess, she really didn’t have as much influence in tribal affairs as one might think. 

But while she wielded less influence than one, she was still  _ raised  _ a Queen. She bled poise, etiquette, and responsibility. 

And while the benefits of the first two were really debatable at this point in her life, no matter what anyone else said, the Northuldra were  _ her  _ responsibility. 

However, she was still a young former-regent/goddess. Her reign was that of a summer queen, where the worst things that had occurred to her kingdom were...mostly her fault, if she was being honest (which might have contributed to her abdication and self-exile from her former home).

Barring said magical mishaps, which frankly didn’t qualify, she had never been in battle. 

She had never shed blood, nor had she ever needed to order people to do so. 

For all that Elsa considered herself a decent queen, she didn’t know if she could even stomach violence on the level that might occur on this beach. 

Said doubts disappeared the instant Adair and Yelena collapsed onto the beach.

* * *

Adair had been the first to react. 

Others were closer, and better ready for the change of events, but the second the invader had raised his axe, he had dashed forward with manic speed. 

No weapon, no shield, he just charged forward, somehow able to see what was happening before anyone else. 

The tribe watched dumbly as he tackled their elder, shielding the blow with his body, and throwing her to the side, where they lay unmoving. 

The beach was quiet for several seconds, before the temperature dropped several degrees.

* * *

Like all good leaders, when faced with a stressful situation, she fell back on her training. 

Elsa had seen Adair rush forward, almost uncomprehending of his actions. 

She’d watched him fall, from a wound to sure be fatal. 

And she gazed as she watched the red stain his clothes, and the black beach. 

She was done watching. 

“Stay here.” she said quietly to the Northuldra, the chill in her voice adding authority to the command. 

Magic curled around her fingers as she slowly strutted forward, unconsciously defaulting to her “power walk” as her mother had once dubbed it, easily stepping over the brush and onto the black beach before her. 

The invaders were still confused, focusing on the boy who had hurled himself over his elder, and it was a good several steps before the White Queen came into full view. 

She must have been quite the un-intimidating sight, all 5’7 of a woman with no visible weapons, and wearing the traditional animal hide clothes of the Northuldra.

But something caught the invaders’ attention. A man on the boat called out to the murderer who’d struck down Adair, to the sounds of horrible laughter by the rest. 

At his words, the murderer turned to Elsa, getting within feet of her, hand outstretched, likely to do something suitably horrible in the same vein as what had happened to her fellow Northuldran.

* * *

Had the invader bothered to look down, he would have noticed that Elsa was not, in fact, standing on the black beach that this tragedy had been taking place on, but she was instead on a path of ice.

A path that had been forming under her feet since she stepped onto the shore, and one that boded poorly for his safety and wellbeing. 

Distantly, an elderly Northuldran, sensing something, covered the eyes of one of the younger warriors.

* * *

Elsa had seemed almost uncaring of the murderer as she walked towards the invaders, but when he’d finally gotten close, her head had turned to him. 

Her eyes could have been chipped from a glacier, they were so cold. 

She raised one of her dainty hands towards him, in a fist, as a queen might greet a knight who kissed her ring. 

Then she released the fist, a wisp of magic drifting outward from her derisive flick.

* * *

The ice flashed forward fast enough that hardly anyone could understand what happened. The veteran warriors watching would later compare the speed of what occurred to an arrow loosed from the bow.

It had started with the magic flowing into the tiny patch of ice under her feet, before surging forward like a tidal wave, icy shards taking the place of white foam. 

Dozens of icicles pierced the man, ripping through him as well as any arrow or axe, perforating him so many times, in so many places, that even as his body went slack, he couldn’t fall, he just hung limply in place.

* * *

Elsa’s gait had not stopped. 

Even as the blood drained from what was once a murderer, she did not even slow to watch her handiwork, her gaze was focused solely on the invader’s ship.

* * *

The invaders, for their part, recovered far more quickly than even the Northuldra did from the magically induced hyperviolence. 

Men already had hopped off the boat, and were rushing to attack her with roars bellowing epithets from their homelands.

The smart ones were running perpendicular to the line between her and the ship, trying to flank her.

The stupid, and the unlucky, would come to regret being in her path.

* * *

Distantly, Elsa finally remembered another ‘battle’ she’d taken part in. 

She’d been inside her castle, enjoying her newfound freedom after her botched coronation, when a group of armed men had barged in, threatening her with crossbows and swords.

Back in another lifetime, she had been exquisitely careful to keep from hurting those men, executing near-perfect control of her ice, with the icicles expertly hitting  _ just  _ close enough to give their tailors a heart attack, but not close enough to draw blood. 

But instead of control, now all she could feel was  _ rage _ . 

She stopped, ice spreading over the top of the water she was standing on. 

Wisps of magic curled around her hands, and slammed her palms into the water before her, aimed at the ship.

* * *

The sound was like that of an Earth Giant slamming one of their hands into the ground, with the woosh of a gale following for good measure.

From under her palms, ice blew outward in what could only be described as like a directed explosion. 

What would ordinarily be the shockwave of the explosion was replaced by a wavefront of icicles, roaring forward with more force than an avalanche, all aimed at the invaders. 

Despite the force behind it, the actual size of the ice wave started small, before rolling forward to become larger and larger until it was as large as a tree, at which point it promptly collided with the ship, and the people around it.

For a second, as the ship tilted backwards, over a dozen degrees above the waterline, suspended slightly in the air, but intact, it seemed like the ship would only be knocked backwards by her rage, shielding the men inside from her full wrath.

* * *

Elsa’s hands tensed, and while she kept them firmly on the floor of ice in front of her, she shoved them forward abruptly, as though sliding a full house to a dealer in a card game.

* * *

The next sound was less like the _thoom_ of rolling boulders colliding with a cliff, and more the sound of a thousand arrows hitting their marks at once.

Ice, as most know, is much less dense than metal, and generally more brittle than wood. But when icicles hit with the force of an angry spirit, as well as hundreds of pounds of pressure, the First Law of Motion dictates that something has to give. 

The Zeroth Law of Motion says that when it comes to physics questions, magically induced rage tends to get its way.

In the interests of following the Zeroth Law, dozens of icicles helpfully perforated the ship’s keel, as well as anything and  any _ one  _ unfortunate enough to be standing behind it.

* * *

Elsa didn’t have an intrinsic connection to her ice. She couldn’t feel her constructs, if someone broke the ice sheet, she might be able to tell, but it wouldn’t  _ hurt  _ her. 

So she wasn’t  _ entirely  _ sure what destruction she had reaped on the ship in front of her, all she knew was that there had not been enough time for the men to even scream. 

Somehow, she found she couldn’t care less.

* * *

Someone was shouting in that strange dialect the invaders all shared, and the Northuldra on the beach saw that, while Elsa had thoroughly decimated the enemy’s forces, some had been smart enough to not be standing directly in front of her. 

Clearly these were very well trained, very loyal, or very  _ stupid  _ warriors, for after the shock of the ice-induced destruction had worn off, they’d all charged her with reckless abandon, correctly assessing that  _ she  _ was the deadliest thing standing on the beach.

* * *

Three warriors remained of the dozen who had taken to her shores, and while she did not intend to leave them alive to harm her people, they were clearly having similar thoughts. 

They roared, charging at her from different directions, while she stood up to better respond in kind. 

The first, who’d narrowly missed “death via icicle” when she’d pulverized the ship and everyone on it, ran towards her bearing a green sword, swinging it wildly for her. Unfortunately for him, he was  _ just _ far enough away for her to get off another ice-flow, this one not hitting dead center, but not quite  _ missing  _ either. She didn’t have time to gaze at the bloody implications of her shot, as the time she spent dispatching that warrior had let the other invaders get close.

* * *

In her fugue state that battle had brought her, she distantly analyzed their garb and weapons. No armor on them, short of metal horned helmets, and their weapons were a strange shade of green.

* * *

The second to last man standing was coming from her right, bearing an axe, the same green shade as the other’s sword, with many battle scars on the weapon proving either the wielder’s brutality, or his poor shopping choices. 

In either event, Elsa very much  _ didn’t  _ want to be cut by it, and she moved backwards, at the last second realizing that she’d been standing on a patch of ice in the middle of a beach. She slipped off the patch into the water, turning her dodge into an awkward stumble into the surf. Ironically, her slip probably saved her arm, as the sudden movement turned what would’ve been a deep cut into just a shallow graze. 

But the slip had knocked her off-balance, and with the pain in her arm, she was barely able to stay upright. 

As the man wound up for the killing blow, she hastily cast more magic, unharmed arm swinging up in a haphazard and desperate move. Ice followed her command, flowing up from the surf around her feet to cover the man, starting from his legs and working it’s way upward in a wave to freeze the man in place where he stood. It only managed to coat his body just in time, locking him in place as the tip of his sword hovered a foot above her head. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Elsa was wondering what was familiar about that, when she tried to walk, and ended up falling backwards. 

She looked down, and realized that the magic which had frozen her assailant had also frozen the water around her feet. 

As she tried to extricate herself, she heard a cry, and she looked up, to find the third invader she had forgotten, towering over her with only an axe about to come down on her.

* * *

The dull thunk of metal on flesh wasn’t one that was likely to leave Elsa’s mind anytime soon. Neither was the bloodcurdling scream the man let out.

Ryder had intercepted the man’s arm before it had delivered the killing blow on his friend, and the consequences of his intervention were now dripping through the invader’s clothes and also onto Elsa, who was still frozen in place under him. Literally.

The other Northuldra had finally gathered around her, and the surviving invader, and one helped the former queen up as another quickly freed her feet from the ice surrounding it. 

She quickly shook off the two attendants with forceful “Thank you”s, and she walked up to the invader.

None of the onlookers said anything.

Elsa grabbed the bleeding arm just above where Ryder had struck him, at the elbow, and a cold white layer of frost began creeping up the man’s arm. 

None of the onlookers said anything.

His yelling stopped and slowly turned into whimpering, as his arm stopped bleeding, but also stopped moving. 

None of the onlookers said anything.

The frost crept farther and farther up his arm as Elsa glared into his eyes with hatred and disgust until-” _ Elsa _ . Stop. Please.” 

The voice was old, and firm. 

Elsa turned, and saw Northuldrans pulling Yelena out from under Adair’s body. 

Like a lightswitch had been turned off, she shook out of her reverie, and rushed over to the elder, kneeling, and checking her for wounds. 

“Are you alright, Yelena?” She said worriedly.

“Come off it, Elsa. I’m fine. Thanks to…” She trailed off, neither of them able to bear looking at the body that had shielded her. 

It wasn’t until someone brought a blanket and tastefully covered him, pulling out the murder weapon and throwing it to the side, that the two could stare at the impression his still form made in the blanket.

“Oh, Adair…” Yelena whispered, as Elsa’s body knelt in front of him. 

Her breathing was irregular as she stared at the mold of the blanket around him, until she looked up, and her eyes caught on the bloody axe, thrown to the side. 

Elsa growled, and got up, turning to the remaining invader on the beach, and rolling up her sleeve, only to find Yelena quietly grabbing her arm. 

“Elsa. He’s a prisoner.” She said softly. “You don’t need to keep fighting, it’s  _ over _ .” 

The former queen sighed, and something broke inside of her as she fell to her knees on the ground, the pain and suffering finally catching up to her. 

As the adrenaline left her body, she could feel her tears trickling down her face, the exhaustion in her body, and a soreness in her throat, almost like she’d been screaming, even though she couldn’t remember doing so. 

Finally, an aching, burning pain radiated from her upper arm, and she looked down to find the cut there  _ far  _ deeper than she recalled it being when it was inflicted.

Distantly, as she fell into unconsciousness, she realized with surprise that some of the blood coating her clothes might be hers. 

“ELSA! Get the healers! For that damn invader too, that arm isn’t looking good!”

* * *

Elsa awoke with a start in a Northuldran hut. 

“ _ ANNA! _ ” She cried, eyes streaming as she looked around in fear. 

“Elsa? Elsa, you’re awake!” came the sound of Ryder as he rushed in, gently looking her up and down for any additional injuries. 

“Ryder, what-”

“Village is safe, nobody was hurt, other than...you know...you’re in our village now because we couldn’t leave you on the beach, we were going to send you to Arendelle, but we were REALLY unsure how you’d do while traveling, and your sister is  _ fine _ , Elsa.” He said quickly, projecting a noticeably false sense of security.

For someone just waking up after a battle, Elsa was surprisingly cognizant, a fact that could be chalked up in equal measures to her magical abilities and a stubborn streak that ran through the women in her family. 

“...Yelena?” She asked quietly. 

“I’m  _ fine _ , Elsa. Thanks to you,” came a voice from the mouth of the hut. The elder walked over, kneeling by her side. She gently held Elsa’s shoulder reassuringly, as Ryder tried to get her to drink some water. 

“...did we get any information from the prisoner?” she continued, with a noticeable shudder in her cup. 

The two Northuldrans shared an inscrutable glance, before Yelena pointedly glanced towards the door, to which Ryder nodded and left. 

“We…” Yelena started carefully. “...sent him to Arendelle.” 

“...why?” Elsa’s cup was trembling even as she sipped the water, before she brought it down, looking her elder in the eye. 

Yelena, for her part, was avoiding eye contact. “...there were other considerations.” 

The cup was nearly spilling as she put it on the table. 

“Elsa?” Her friend said carefully. “Is something wrong?” 

The former Queen of Arendelle, Spirit of Ice and Frost, potentially the most powerful mage in the Western Hemisphere, tried to block out her tears and regain her royal facade. 

“I’m sorry.” she said quietly, as she pretended the tracks of saltwater going down her face didn’t exist. “I just…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve never killed anyone before.” 

Something in Elsa’s eyes defocused, and her breathing began to hike up as her heartbeat spiked. 

“Oh god...I...I killed-I’m a mon-” 

Yelena lunged forward, grabbing both of Elsa’s shoulders in her hands. 

“Hey-HEY. Elsa.  _ Look at me _ .” 

Carefully, Elsa turned her gaze to the elder’s. When she looked into her eyes, she did not see a goddess, but a girl, and Yelena’s heart broke.

“You saved lives today.” When that didn’t work, Yelena sighed, and raised a hand to gently wipe a tear tract away with her thumb, and her voice dipped lower in gratitude. “You saved  _ my  _ life today.” She whispered, and that seemed to get through Elsa’s fugue. 

Yelena gently gave her a hug, and whispered again. “Just  _ breathe _ , little one.”

Elsa took a deep breath, then another. With each additional intake of air, she calmed down slightly, and when Yelena let go to look at her, the former queen had finally gained a portion of her royal facade back. 

Yelena distantly worried about that being the woman’s chosen coping mechanism, but she silenced that thought before she spoke. 

“You are not a monster, Elsa.” 

The woman in question looked down. 

“I have killed a dozen men who I cannot even name.” She said quietly. “What would  _ you  _ call that?”

The Elder sighed, mulling over her words carefully, before speaking again. “...actually...we  _ do  _ know their name now.” 

Elsa turned to her in surprise, curiosity breaking her grief where honeyed words couldn’t. “...really?”

“Yes.” Yelena said with a hint of sadness. “They call themselves-”

* * *

_ Slowly, with a sick and twisted smile, the man began walking towards her, hands still carrying a shield and an axe. He slowly brought up his axe-wielding hand to his chest, tapping it in a mockery of what she’d just done.  _

_ His voice was higher than what he’d just been using with his allies, almost certainly a sign of mockery in his tone, and he said one word very clearly to her.  _

_ But despite the heat of the moment, or perhaps, because of it, what he called himself burned into Yelena’s memory like a brand. _

* * *

“- **_Vikings_ ** ”


End file.
